During our lives we will all be forced to make some tough choices and decisions at some point... just as this sad, pathetic character from my story has to. I didn't write this story easily; also, I didn't write it because I have some aspiration to become a writer - it's far too late for that now. I wrote this story just because I wanted to 'get it out of my system' in a way, and I sincerely apologize for any typo, grammatical or logical mistake that has been unseen - once again, I had no ambitions when I wrote this and I don't have them now... but let's get back to those hard choices now, shall we? My choice will be not to play Oblivion for some time - not pirate copies of it and not on my PC, at least; also, I won't write anymore, period. Fan fiction is a serious waste of time if you don't have any ambitions and I've realized that recently... maybe a claymore or two for Stargelman, perhaps, but no stories anymore... so enjoy this (or not) and if you have any questions about it or events and people in it I'll be glad to answer them - that'll also save me the trouble of writing a FAQ for it
Cheers !p.s.: I am most grateful to Alexander, Stargelman and, of course, Minque, for their support and help... may you have good luck, good health and sharp blades in Oblivion, just as you did in Morrowind
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A PRELUDE TO OBLIVION
"We feel pain, and fear it. We feel shame, and fear it.
We feel loss, and fear it. We hate the Darkness, and fear it."
(Spirit of the Daedra)
I distinctly remember that Zurin Arctus, the Underking, once wrote: "Without a hero, there is no event". Bah. I am quite sure that this scribing isn't a description of events, since I'm certainly no hero. It could be a lament, maybe, although it's more likely to be a monologue, because no one wants to listen to mumblings of a deranged Breton half-breed; or maybe an epilogue to a badly written four-decade story that was my life (a sad excuse, but I apologize, dear reader... that is all I can do nowadays, apologize); or perhaps it is a muddled, dragged out explanation of my future demise, for my epitaph would probably only say "Here lies Milanius, vagabond, drunkard and a plague upon this world - booze finally got him under the ground"... if only things could be that simple ! If - but nothing about me is ever plain, simple or easy.
I am writing these words from the boat that carries me along the southeastern coast of Tamriel, towards the troubled Imperial Province, with little or no hope of return - and even as I write the sentences down their absurdity makes me giggle. Even if, by some unexpected turn of luck, I manage to cheat fate and survive, where should I return to ? During last two years I've lost nearly all of my friends and liaisons in Morrowind - some of them are dead, others want nothing to do with me anymore, and few true friends who still hold room in their hearts for me are no longer on Dunmer soil. Indeed, things have thoroughly gone downhill, but I am afraid that this spiral of doom isn't limited on me only... Something horrifying is preparing to burst into our world. Evil gods will dance on brimming graveyards, entire lands will suffer, people will suffer... I will suffer, most probably die. But even if there's nothing else for me but blood and pain at the end of this trip I still intend to finish it. For once in my life I will finish what I've started.
But what am I ranting about ? Let me begin this whole sad tale at the beginning - or, in this case, at the end... In past several years, after the rise of Lord Nerevar Reborn, things became extremely hard for people of Morrowind. Although Nerevar destroyed Dagoth Ur at Red Mountain and nearly wiped the entire Sixth House cult in following few months things didn't turn quite well as it seemed. Majority of Morrowind's people - many of them honest, law-abiding, decent folk - who believed in benevolence of their living gods now had to abruptly face the fact that nearly all things that they were told and preached were lies. Too many men and women gave in to despair and ended their own lives; others, however, chose to feel rage rather than sadness and returned to their old ways and habits, bickering among themselves like they've always done in the past. Houses Telvanni and Indoril have, expectedly, radicalized their policies against abolitionists; such rise of oppression led to a series of minor slave rebellions, all of them suffocated in blood. Meanwhile, back in the north of Vvardenfell, Hlaalu and Redorans have nearly waged a House War because Imperial Commission, being weakened and susceptible to rising Redoran influence, finally gave back the rights for mining operations in Caldera to House Redoran, answering in that way to major charges for corruption against the Hlaalu. By that time many valued mercenaries and House kinsmen have deserted the weakened House Hlaalu, including myself. Maybe it would be more truthful to say I was kicked out of their little nest of lies, but I shouldn't waste any more time remembering that mockery of trial for false charges of treason... let's just say I left them for good after they failed producing any skeletons from my closet, save my bad manners and drinking habits. Although some of the wealth I accumulated during my mercenary years in Morrowind still survived, I could no longer live in relative luxury as I did when I worked for Hlaaly Councilors; so, I decided to move into a small tenement in Vivec's Foreign Quarter and work on occasions as a freelancer for anyone who had money and problem waiting to be solved. Fighters Guild management and I have parted with a small dose of mutual respect, since I could no longer pay dues frequently as they wanted; on the other hand, Mages Guild prove themselves to be surprisingly flexible in that same area, asking me for alchemist favors when needed and only taking my guild dues in hard cash when it was really necessary (in that last matter, I owe much gratitude to Edwinna Elbert, who never really stopped mourning for my 'wasted talents'). In the meantime, I've managed to cut down my drinking to a steady dose which would still ruin my liver and take my life, only not so fast, and started living in a hazy, monotonous stream of days... then, nearly five months ago, something slipped trough that haze into my dreams, turning them to one continuous line of nightmares.
I have experienced bad omens before in my life, many times ranging from strange hunches to overwhelming feelings of danger, but one doesn't have to be too smart to realize danger when it is near - and back in the day I used to go hunting for trouble in tombs, Dwemer ruins and even old daedric shrines which were widely spread across Morrowind... as for nightmares, I've had a good share of those, too, but so did half of island at one time. Indeed, years that closely preceded final conflict between Nerevar, living gods of Tribunal and the Sixth House were turmoil of events that didn't end as well as expected; the most significant consequence was serious weakening of Imperial rule in the province, as well as their military strength, which led to huge problems that no man, even Lord Nerevar himself, could battle on his own. However, I stopped paying much attention to ubiquitous decay of the province, since nightmares of slaughter and fire soon became much more vivid and dreadful. At first, they came to me two or three times a week, as mere glimpses: rain and thunderbolts across night sky, fires and cries in the distance... but then dreams became longer, and I started to experience them every night, up to the point where I had them day and night, every time I was sober enough to sleep properly.
The dream itself was always the same. It was not its content which made it so frightening, but something else that was there every single time I dreamt it... something filled with hatred that seemed eternal and sharp as a razor. In my dream I run trough burning streets and building debris of this small town, which was somehow very familiar to me; rain poured from the night sky, dark as a tomb, and only when the first lightning blazed across it I was able to clearly see the street I walked upon - and it was completely red from blood. Bodies and body parts, slashed to bits by someone, lied everywhere and I had the greatest urge to vomit, but every moment I'd come to this point in my dream that hateful presence that was everywhere - in the smoke rising from burning buildings, in the salty, metallic smell of blood, in the cold, damp night air, and in the sound of laughter that would become louder and louder as if the raging fires fueled him - would grab me from the inside, tying my guts into a painful knot and I would fall down on the ground... afterwards, I would wake up in pains, more dead than alive as if the dream really hurt my insides every time.
I've talked about my troubles with some members of Mages Guild I still trusted and no one had a conclusive answer about what sort of curse or magic can instigate such violent, repetitive dreams. I tried experimenting with dozens of potions, all in futile hope that one might allow me to suppress the dream. Nothing worked... but once I found out that heavy use of liquors made the dream blurry, less painful and detailed I've started to squander more and more money on cheapest shein and mazte, devouring it in hope I'd pass out every night and eventually sleep without dreams... or die from drinking, whichever came first. My solution was short-lived; again, nightmare started to break trough delirium as it re-established its firm grip on me... but something also changed in the dream itself. At first, only moaning and cries of despair intensified along with that vile laughter in the end, but something else started to break trough all that insane cacophony - a calm, quiet, soothing voice of a woman, which was incomprehensible at first, began to speak these words: "Come back, come back to me ! You must come back... come back, come back...". It took me quite a while to recognize the voice, but finally, several nights ago, remembrance came to me as a shock. That voice belonged to my long departed mother, no less, and it sounded exactly the same as I remembered it many years ago, when I was a child, before she came down with grave illness and died. After that the things began to unfold slowly, and the next thing I deducted was that the city I saw in flames was my birthplace and first home in Imperial Province, much before my greedy foster parents sent me to Cyrodiil, where I lived after my mother had died. This was a definite blow for me - and only other memory I had of that day was that I wept for hours and drank insane quantities of alcohol until I ended up on the floor of my room, unconscious, racing toward my nightmare again.
I did not expect to be woken up by someone else next morning, but that is what happened. A tall, well built Redguard has entered my home, picked me up from the soaked, filthy floor; he gave me some potion to restore my strengths, cleaned me up a bit and helped me walk all the way down to shipmaster, without even saying a word - although I haven't bothered to ask him anything. Only when we both settled down in the boat, he opened his mouth for the first time, telling the shipmaster to take us to Ebonheart; then he turned back to me and told me he was a servant of Imperial Cult, sent to fetch me by their highest priestess, the Oracle. I listened in silence, still not fully awake, as he told me how she started getting one same violent vision for months on and somehow, from her own descriptions of future events she had seen artists managed to draw a picture of a man, which he then showed me. I sat there, still silent, looking at a perfectly drawn portrait of me, as Redguard spoke to me for the last time: "She really needs to meet with you at once and determine whether her vision is true and if so, in what way are you connected with it". I just nodded, as we came closer to the old imperial fortress.
When we arrived at Ebonheart my companion and two more that had been waiting for us helped me up to the Imperial Cult's chapel. Inside, more men and women awaited us; all of them seemed to have held their breaths the very moment they saw me. Among them was a tall, pale Imperial woman of noble posture, dressed in plain but clean robes with markings which I recognized as symbols of Nine Divines. She helped me sit down on a wooden stool that was right in the middle of the room, facing the altar and her. Once I sat down she handed me a full glass of some tincture that resembled a saltrice mix which I used frequently when I needed to heal myself from the effects of drinking in a hurry. Soon, my head felt much better, and although I was still in a sad shape I was able to talk and understand people around me. However, the only person I spoke with that day, beside the misterious Redguard, was the woman who gave me the cure - Lalatia Varian was her name, the one with the visions. She interrogated me, without a single doubt that I'm telling her the truth; somehow, I felt compelled to tell her nothing but the truth and by the end of conversation she got to know me better than most people I've met in Vvardenfell since my arrival here. She listened with great care as I spoke about my hellish months and tormenting dream, and when she learned I was born in Cyrodiil she suddenly asked me: "Do you remember how did you ended up here in the first place, how did you come here ?". "I was a prisoner, sent with several others into exile... but how is that..." and even before I ended that sentence a flashback hit me: prison ship on which I was sent to Morrowind, and my companions - a skinny man who went to become a savior, scarred, cryptic Dunmer, several others... and a young girl I got to know very well during the years, girl who managed to break my heart - we were all on that same ship, with same destination, but I never thought about it until now...
Breaking the sudden silence, as if she wanted to answer my thoughts, the Oracle slowly spoke: "Many souls are born and many die on Nirn every single day. Some are born as heroes and nobles, and some become heroes or nobles trough the course of their lives even if they weren't one at the beginning... but only few are great enough to be heroes inherently, even if their destinies seem to prove them otherwise. You didn't come to this land alone, Milanius; there were few other people beside you who fulfilled the criteria for Nerevanine Prophecy - Emperor and the Imperial Cult knew this. You were all sent here in hope that one of you will stop evil in its work, but that prove to be only one part of the truth. All of us - the Tribunal, Imperial Cult, rulers of this land - we were all so preoccupied with troubles at hand that we haven't even felt more sinister, darker forces, that were preparing to invade our world for decades - not until just lately, although it might still be too late. Today, we've received ill news - the Emperor has been slain in his court nearly two weeks ago and Empire is now being governed by a provisional council. Today, we have found you, a man I've been seeing in my daydream for several months. I am aware that we can't force you into any decision, but I must beg you not to turn away from things I wish to say to you and only you; please, will you now hear what I have to say?"
I became aware of my racing heart and opened, yet speechless, mouth only after several seconds, when I glanced at others in the room; and then I saw everyone looking back at me with nervous expectation and hope. It was all so overwhelming in the soundless room that I turned my eyes straight back at the Oracle - and in that moment I got to see her truly for the first time. All the arrogance that Imperials carry inside them didn't manifest itself in slightest with her; I saw her face clearly and she looked every little bit tired as me, if not even more; but her face, even with blackness under the eyes and clear signs of torment, radiated no signs of inner struggle, but tranquility, peace and resolution... in short, it was a face of saint, someone who's faith is so strong and certain, so defiant to the outside world, that just may move a mountain or two. I swallowed own saliva, trying to gather firmness, and gave my answer: "Woman, you speak of bravery in the face of danger. Take a good, hard look at me. For the sake of politeness I will oblige you and listen what you have to say to me, but I'll tell you this right now: if you continue to look for heroes in this room once we are left alone you won't find one - unless you are one."
A huge exhale of relief filled the chamber; it was as someone suddenly lifted this huge burden off everyone's back and everyone in the room looked visibly encouraged, despite my bitter words. The Oracle was the only one who remained unchanged. She raised her right hand, waving to everyone and they've all, in response, started to go out of the chamber. The last one who got out was the Redguard who brought me here, looking back at us on his way out with an expression that could only mean 'I knew it'. Once the priestess and I were left alone the conversation between the two of us began, and I will try to recreate it in full, from the moment she began to speak to me:
"Do not ask me how I know you have been telling me truth, because I knew things about you already. I had to endure months of difficulties, but once my vision was clear enough so I could describe your face to draftsmen we started to look for you. That was one week ago, and just yesterday we learned from people in Vivec about your whereabouts... and your situation. It would've been much easier for us all if our mutual friend, Caius Cosades, was still here in Morrowind... however I haven't received any news from him ever since he had returned to Imperial Province. Now I fear for his life and lives of his family. If you get the chance to look him up once you get to Cyrodiil, please..."
"Once I get to Cyrodiil ? Have you suddenly become mad, priestess? I was banished from the Imperial City and the whole damn province. I came here hoping to get help from you people, not listen to insane propositions... even if I wanted to go back to Cyrodiil it would be a capital crime for me to return, so just forget it!"
The Oracle stretched her hands toward me, trying to calm me down. "Indeed, you were exiled" she responded, "but not because of your petty violations of law... you were sent, as I mentioned before, with a mission - you and several other men and women. We knew this and we knew that no harm should come to any of you; during your voyage our agent, disguised as another prisoner, had watched over you; and when you all came to this land with same orders agents of the Blades, as well as servants of Imperial Cult tracked your movements and doings across this land. Once the Nerevanine Prophecy was fulfilled we eventually stopped paying attention to you... but that is all in the past. Since the Emperor is now dead we must act on our own, the best way we can; if we don't, you might imagine what will happen with the Empire ?"
I didn't answer her question, because it was rhetorical. I knew very well what kind of pandemonium awaited Tamriel now. The Emperor had no son and was without any known relatives who could rightfully claim the throne and this whole assassination thing, regardless of who had done it, was the worst case scenario. If Cyrodiil came down under unrest and civil war the Imperial province would collapse; and with its collapse the Empire would soon split back to small, unstable kingdoms, leaving the entire world in chaotic, weakened state. I didn't have to answer her at all; but now, something else started to bother me. "I know what would happen - what I don't know is what the link between me, my nightmares and the death of Uriel Septim is. I have the feeling you'll tell me all this."
"I told you we only learned about you the last week - this was once I clearly recognized; but what we didn't know until last night was that you had nightmares similar to my visions - your neighbors have told us stories about screams that came from your apartment during night and things you would speak in your dream... We added up all the facts and realized you were in great danger - someone who, without proper training or protection, experiences such horrors every single night will eventually go insane, possibly try to take own life. You sit here smelling of your own insides and cheap liquor, don't you ? Maybe you were closer to the edge than you know it. But let's not waste any more time - I must tell you of my vision."
My heart, which has pounded like crazy all trough our conversation, seemed to slow down to a halt immediately, while I listened to the Oracle's description: "I suspect your nightmare and my vision to be similar in some ways, with only difference that I see this... event... that might happen in the future from a certain height, like a bird would... In my vision I see ruins of a small city, most probably Cyrodiilic; death reeks everywhere in it, and the only living thing is a small band of soldiers, fighting a host of daedric servants; there is no bravery there, because all hope is nearly lost and they are falling without a sound, one by one, until there are but two man standing there - and one of them I recognized as you. You stood with no care of yourself, casting vicious spells and wielding your sword, trying to protect the other one until he was able to break trough the fires and enemy encirclement so he could save himself; and you fell the last, struck by dremora's blade. After that my vision fades into darkness and whispering in tongues which I am unable to understand."
I felt pain in my gut, my head and just about everywhere in my body. "So that is it ? You tell me that I have to go back to Cyrodiil only to be killed there... to forfeit my life for someone who I don't even know yet ?! Who is this man and why is he so important that I have to die for him ?"
"I do not know that. I haven't been able to see his face."
"What ?! But you had no trouble recognizing me !"
The Oracle closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, as she continued, unmoved by my anger: "I said I don't know who he is - but not what he might be. You must understand that this vision, of all that I had during my life and service to Imperial Cult, is most obscured to me, most mysterious; and, probably because of it, most important of all I've had in my entire life. During it, there are no riddles, only images of future; I hear laughter and whispers mixed, I see bodies of dead or dying, and many more terrifying things; but you and your companion are most important part of it, the focus of entire vision. He, whoever that warrior might be, is surrounded by an aura of such brightness and strength that I've seen only few times in my life, in dreams and reality alike - and all of those people, without a single exception, were of the royal bloodline. That can only mean that this man you're protecting may be some unknown Emperor's relative; that makes him very precious, for he might try to unite the land and become successor to the throne of Septim. Also, great numbers of daedric servants I've seen you battle in my vision can only mean that a great power - most likely one of the evil Daedra - stands behind all this future destruction. I suspect that Daedra most likely to be Mehrunes Dagon."
At that moment my head was, at last, fully cleared and I began to unravel the tapestry of events in my mind. Mehrunes Dagon ? By Nine, if what she says is true, if Mehrunes Dagon is trying to set all these things in motion just to achieve some tremendous goal of his, then doom must be upon us... but something else doesen't make sense here. In what way am I so damn important if it turns out that I'm just a pin-cushion for some Emperor's bast*rd son ? And why so many months of tormenting dreams - does someone want me dead, or insane ? Mehrunes Dagon, perhaps ? The very thought would make me laugh out loud, but I was in no state to do that now. I was in a very dark mood, my sanity has been eroded, leaving a physical and mental wreck of a man who would, just yesterday, embrace quick and painless death as a gift... yet, after hearing all this from a person who seemed to know all about me ever since I came into this cursed land, I've began to get that old feeling of rage in my bones, my blood, even in my eardrums - it was my Nordic inheritance, the only thing that prevented me from giving into despair for thousands of times. Rage, because I can't be left alone no matter where I go or what I try to do. Rage, because gods play their pranks on entire nations, without any care for their suffering. Rage, because I knew that fighting the will of some Daedra - not to mention the Lord of Destruction himself ! - would be like fighting a stone wall with your bare fists... but somehow, I started to feel the greatest urge to do just that, pound my fists against some wall until there is nothing but bloody mash instead of my hands.
The Oracle watched me for those few minutes I sat in silence, clenching my teeth and fists; she could read my face and my understanding as plain as she would read open book. "I can only imagine how you must feel right now, with all that I've said to you. No one from the Cult knows of these details but you; if it could this give you some comfort, you must also know that my vision is, just as whole of future, still uncertain. I did not see your definite end - only that you were struck down and suffered a great wound... so there might be some hope for your salvation. I also know, by your deeds and actions, that you are a good man, although you might not see yourself in such light. It is this certainty and greatness I feel in you that reassures me you will go take this road to your destiny, whatever it might be, just like you did your entire life."
"My life ..." I grinned for the first time that day, "There is no more life, only a ruin of it. If I go to this trip, if I manage to get to that point where I might or might not end up as a dead toy for some dremora... even if all this is true how do you know that my actions, all up until that very moment, will affect the future in any positive way ?"
It was now her turn to smile - but her smile was true: " My premonitions have always been sent to me and blessed by our gods, the beloved Nine Divines - and even this last vision, tainted with vileness, carries in itself signs of hope - if not, I would see both you and your warrior companion from the vision dead for sure... but it is not so. Something inside of me had always granted me hope and strength, no matter what I saw - and that is faith. I have faith in my Gods; I have faith in the truth that is more or less hidden within my premonitions; and after I've seen you with my own eyes, for the first time during all these years... I now have faith in you as well, faith that you will affect future in a positive way and help this man who must be someone with power to strike back at the heart of evil. It is as simple as that."
These last words of the Oracle had left me completely speechless. As I sat there on that stool, still in my filthy clothes, still afraid of night and terror from the repeating nightmare, she came close to me, took my left hand and opened up the palm; at the same time she had pulled something small and shiny out of a pocket, concealed in her robe, and put it onto my palm. When I looked at it I saw a small, wonderfully crafted golden ring, entirely crossed out and covered with purple ornaments and tiny daedric letters; in its middle was a single beautiful amethyst... before I could ask anything she spoke, nearly whispering: "Although I can't order you anything, since you're not member of our Cult, I will give you this present with my repeated plead to you. This is one of the more secretive artifacts we've found during our years of service in Morrowind; it is the Ring of Lord Mhas and it can grant its bearer complete magically summoned armor. In my vision, while you were fighting, I saw you exactly like that - in full armor of daedric origin... that is how I know that you will accept this gift. Please... will you accept my plead, too ? Will you travel back to Cyrodiil and seek the blood relative of Uriel Septim ?"
I carefully stood up, still looking at the ring; and turned my eyes toward Lalatia Varian. At that very moment the sun was setting and its last rays were bursting trough windows, bathing her face, hair and the entire room with shine; at that moment I realized that she looks beautiful, despite the fact she was good five or six years older than me, and I thought how, if things were different, if my life had not taken this sharp turn, if she wasn't the Oracle and we were both in some tavern or any other bar-hole on this island, I would only have her body on my mind... but here she stood, this woman of grace and pride, telling a drunken sod in front of her how she believes in him. Me, of all people... I felt my voice stutter as I started to speak: "I haven't told you that my dream differs from yours. In my nightmare I am not fighting anyone... I'm just walking trough the rubble that was my town of birth... and before some unknown force begins to rip me from inside, I hear a voice that is calling me back... I... I recognized that voice. It was my mother's... my dead mother is calling me back..." astonishment spread across her face, as I continued: "I don't know am I going insane, is it really her I'm hearing or is someone... something... playing with me, luring me into a trap... I really don't care anymore. I will go. This has to end and I need to be able to live again and if that can't be, to hell with it all then ! I shall embrace death or any other fate, whatever pleases the gods... but this torture has to end once and for all."
For the second time she smiled but not so much this time, being saddened by my words, while rays of setting sun radiated her. "Blessings of the Nine upon you ! I was hoping you'd accept to follow this omen... now that it is so, we must not waste any more time. The ship which brought us news of Emperor's death is still anchored here in Ebonheart - at the personal requests of garrison commander and me - and it has been prepared to set sail back to Imperial Province tonight. I know that this must sound rash and unreasonable to you, but this is the safest way for you to get to Cyrodiil since all of the land ways have become too dangerous. You will be provided with all necessary things and you'll also get some time to get back to shape and prepare yourself for this quest you'll take upon yourself... also, you won't travel to Cyrodiil alone. The man who brought you here is one of our loyal servant's son and also our youngest Shrine Sergeant. His name is Derrick and he is more than skilled in several combat arts - he will be your aid and help you practice some of your skills while you're traveling to Cyrodiil. Other than that I can only give you my blessing, although I feel that, in some way, you have already been blessed with divine fortune... if not, you wouldn't even be standing here... so, now we must part" her voice suddenly became firmer, more official, and she raised her hands and eyes up in a gesture, "May all our Nine Divine Gods confer their mercy, wisdom, strength and luck to you and may their love and benevolence become your shield in time that will come and trials that you'll partake. Go with faith and pride, my son !"
As she ended this short prayer I felt a strange tingle across my skin, but when the feeling stopped I felt calm, soothed, like I hadn’t felt in months. Then she went back to the chamber's door, opening them and calling the members and savants back inside. Once they filled the room she started to give them fast instructions; but to the Redguard she spoke only a few words, and he went straight to me. I've been standing back when he came and offered his hand to me. As I shook his hand he spoke: "I am Derrick, son of Kaye. I shall accompany you to Cyrodiil and once we're there I'll maintain a safehouse for the two of us. If I manage, I'll also try to find Caius Cosades. Before we go, I want you to know we all respect your decision. This is a brave thing that you're doing."
"Brave, maybe, but also incredibly dumb" I replied, "for death probably awaits me, maybe you too, back in Cyrodiil."
Derrick just nodded with that unique Redguard expression of warrior's serenity and replied: "True, but any given day is a good day to die - if one's death holds honor and valor. But you must not think about unknown obstacles in advance. We will cross our bridges once we get to them - and right now we must prepare ourselves for departure. Come, the ship is waiting us."
I spent the rest of the evening with my thoughts, looking at stars and counting them, while Derrick and the crew of our ship, the Abecean Skimmer, loaded last of the provisions into its hull. In my cabin I found various spell scrolls, a decent alchemist set (which just proved how much the Imperial Cult knew about me), some of the rarer potion ingredients, one beautifully crafted silver longsword, a heavy pouch with 500 septims in it - and a parchment with another prayer, written by Oracle Lalatia Varian, which I read out loud; after I did that I tied the ring she gave me to a small string of leather I found among other things, hung it around my neck and then lied down, hoping that I'd get some rest before nightmare clutches me again... surprisingly, a prayer before bedtime has done what I couldn't do on my own - my dreams became blurred, less painful and I actually managed to get some sleep.
All this has happened two days ago. No one, not even my superiors from the Mages Guild, has received the word about my departure, since now I travel under a false name; but Derrick has assured me how all things were taken care of. Although I don't bother myself much with the mess I left behind me it is good to know someone still tries to maintain some order in that madhouse of a country. We are at the mercy of the open sea now, which seems to be working against us, becoming rougher the further we go... almost as if that dark, sinister presence, which is slowly starting to fade from my dreams, now attempts to hamper us in reality. This is more than upsetting, because I now start to think about the future and dangers that await me... I came to the land of Morrowind the same way I am coming back to the place where my life started. I had little hope then, just as I do now - the only difference is that I am a free man now and this time I chose my own fate, even though I know its course has been, as before, forced upon me. If the Oracle's vision is true and I am to face daedric forces while I search the land for this mysterious blue-blood then I won't die yet - not here, on the stormy seas of south, nor in the huge labyrinth of Imperial City... still, I may very easily die a horrific, painful death, deprived of any 'honor' or 'valor' of which Derrick keeps speaking on and on... but that is something I just have to accept now, because in the end everyone loses final gamble with Death. The only thing that may matter a little to me now is how will the world, history and perhaps you, my uncertain reader, view me - as a mere man, who has lost more life's battles than he's won, or as someone who was, at times, able to accomplish few heroic deeds... me ? I myself don't believe in that. In my own eyes, I am no hero. I am just a dead man walking, with a ring, a sword and a prayer, on his way to Oblivion.
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Edit: fixed few small mistakes, will continue to do so in the future
